Wrong Move

WRONG MOVE

On July 4, 1870, my sixteenth birthday, I got up at five o’clock and pulled on my dirty overalls and work boots. In the kitchen, I put a kettle of water on the wood stove to heat and put the wash tub on the porch. The sun, barely up, was already warming the day. It was going to be a hot one.

After the milking was done and the eggs gathered I bathed on the porch, scrubbing the cow smell from my body and washing the straw from my hair. I brushed the dirt and manure off my boots and donned clean clothes.

“Ma, I’m going to town to participate in the festivities. Do you want to go with me?”

“No thanks. I just want to relax and read my book. It’s Mark Twain’s new one, The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County.

Walking the two miles to town, I was thinking of Caroline Walker. Maybe I would have a chance with her if I could catch her alone instead of glued to Ben Hennison. Ben was all right, tall and good looking, but a little dim in my humble opinion. Not good enough for Caroline.

It was nearly noon by the time I got to town. The street was crowded and bunting hung everywhere. A band was playing patriotic music the smell of food drifted out of tents.

I spotted a circle of cheering kids my age at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the dentist’s office. In the middle of circle was Ben and Caroline. Ben held a pink teddy bear above his head and Caroline was jumping after it. She looked distraught.

This was my chance. I stepped into the circle and clocked him.

Caroline spit in my face. “He was just teasing you clod.”

300 words